


Wishbone

by cypress_tree



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, Family, Holidays, M/M, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree/pseuds/cypress_tree
Summary: Hermann doesn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, so Newt invites him over for food, family, and a little bit of flirting.  Just a warm, fuzzy college AU to get you through the holidays.





	

**Author's Note:**

> there are a few lines in german—hover over for the translations!!
> 
> thanks to bee [geniusbee](http://geniusbee.tumblr.com/) for the idea and beta, and charlie [alogicals](http://alogicals.tumblr.com) for translating

“You’re staying home alone on Thanksgiving?”

It’s the question Hermann’s been dreading ever since November began. He hates admitting it because it garners such pity, but honestly, he isn’t upset.

“I mean—” Newt tilts back in his chair until it rests on two legs. “I guess it doesn’t make sense to spend money on a plane ticket to go home for four days. But you’re not even hanging out with friends?”

“I had plans with Vanessa, but she had to cancel.”

Newt frowns. He wobbles on his chair, then sets it back down before he falls.

“You could come over to my place.”

“We’re not friends.”

“We could get this project finished after dinner. Then we wouldn’t have to meet up Saturday and you could go to that robot thing with Mako.”

Hermann pauses. He glances down at his laptop—the unfinished Powerpoint presentation they’ve been working on for the better part of the day.

“You can’t just invite me to dinner without consulting your parents.”

“It’s just me, my dad, and my uncle. My dad loves doing it up for the holidays, but we don’t have any family in the states, so...I mean, to be honest, he’d love having a guest.”

The offer is tempting. Hermann had been planning on a nice quiet holiday alone in his dorm. Takeout. Netflix. Reading for fun rather than assignment. But he can’t pretend that he wouldn’t enjoy a home-cooked meal. Or the illusion of family.

“Ask your father formally, then get back to me,” he says.

Newt grins and grabs his phone from beneath a pile of loose papers.

“Not _now_!”

But Newt already has the phone to his ear. Hermann glares at him and looks up through the glass wall of their study room. Phone use isn’t allowed inside the library, but hopefully nobody can hear them in here.

“Hey dad,” Newt says. “Can I bring my lab partner over for Thanksgiving? He’s a grumpy British guy with nowhere else to go.” Newt winks at Hermann, and Hermann rolls his eyes. “Sweet, thanks, love you.” He hangs up and smiles wide and cocky. “Hey, so you wanna come over for Thanksgiving?”

 

\---

 

Hermann hadn’t been thrilled about being paired with Newt for this project. Newt skips more classes than he attends, and spends lectures watching anime on his laptop. He’s smart—Hermann has argued with him enough times to be sure of that—but he always seems distracted, and woefully disorganized.

When Newt arrived at the library with notes and diagrams, Hermann was impressed. He was even more impressed when Newt showed an active interest and passion in their topic. He agreed to dinner so they could get some more work done, but the more he thinks about it, the more he begins to doubt. Will they really have time? How much awkward conversation will he have to have with Newt’s family? On Wednesday afternoon, his finger hovers over the screen of his phone, but instead of cancelling, he forces himself to text _is there anything I can bring_?

Newt responds almost immediately. _just ur sweet self_

Hermann frowns, trying to decipher the intent behind this, when Newt texts again.

_also an empty stomach. my dad’s cooking a ton even tho ur only one person and thin as a rail_

Hermann ignores him. _what kind of wine does your family prefer?_

_no wine, we dont keep alcohol in the house._

Oh. Well what can he bring, then? It would be rude to show up empty-handed. Perhaps flowers? A centerpiece? Newt sends another text.

_actually could u pick up some pumpkin? 15oz. i wanna make a pie_

That, Hermann can do. He responds to Newt’s text and gets ready to go to the store before it gets too dark.

 

\---

 

Hermann doesn’t get much sleep that night. He tells himself that he’s just nervous about meeting Newt’s family and sharing a meal in a house he doesn’t know. But he’s also thinking of Newt’s text— _just ur sweet self_ —and Newt’s excited smile when Hermann agreed to come to dinner.

Hermann turns over and checks the time on his phone, then scrolls through Twitter until he’s caught up from earlier in the night. His sister Karla has posted pictures of latte art that she’s done for customers. He faves the tweets, then faves Vanessa’s selfie, then wishes Mako safe travels on her flight to San Francisco. When he closes the app, he remembers the text he received from his father that afternoon.

_You haven’t sent me your scores from the last two Classical Mechanics exams. I expect them by the end of the week._

Hermann still hasn’t told his father that he dropped Classical Mechanics—a physics elective—in favor of Physical Cosmology—an astrophysics elective. He holds off on replying, puts his phone down, and closes his eyes. His stomach is in knots, so he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Newt’s smile flashes through his mind. Hermann relaxes, and finally drifts off to sleep.

 

\---

 

Newt’s family lives in an apartment in a quiet, hilly section of Somerville. When Hermann spots their building, he takes his phone from his pocket and sends Newt a quick _I’m here_. The door swings open just as he reaches the top step.

“Hey, come on in.” Newt takes Hermann’s backpack from him and closes the door. “Sorry about the stairs,” he says. “This place isn’t exactly ADA compliant.”

Hermann follows Newt up a creaky wooden staircase and down a short hallway. The building is old, but clean and well-kept. There are four apartments total—two on the bottom floor, two on the top, but it’s so quiet that Hermann suspects all the other occupants have left.

Newt turns and looks at Hermann as they reach his doorway. He gives a quick smile that Hermann can’t decipher, then opens the door and shouts “Hermann’s here!” There’s a distant “hello” from another room, but no one comes out to greet them.

“Take off your coat,” Newt says. “What are you even wearing, it’s not _that_ cold.” He tugs at Hermann’s parka, and Hermann is suddenly struck by the realization that Newt is in skinny jeans and a university hoodie. Hermann may have overdressed. He unzips his parka with reluctance and holds it awkwardly in front of him.

“I can take it.” Newt hangs up Hermann’s coat in a closet, then turns and looks at him. His eyes widen just slightly. “Shit, dude,” he says. Hermann is wearing freshly-ironed pants, a white shirt buttoned to the neck, a brand new v-neck sweater, and a crisp charcoal suit jacket.

“I didn’t know what to wear,” he mumbles.

Newt smirks. “Ok, that outfit might fly in some people’s houses, but we aren’t nearly that fancy. Come here.” Hermann shuffles towards him and allows Newt to remove his jacket and undo the two buttons at his neck. He gives a sharp cry of protest when Newt tries to untuck his shirt, and bats Newt’s hands away from his waist.

“Stop!” he says. “That looks sloppy.”

“It’s not sloppy, it’s stylish.” Hermann shakes his head in disagreement, but relaxes, allowing Newt to finish. “There,” Newt says. He pulls down Hermann’s sweater so that his shirttails peek out from underneath, then takes a step back to admire his handiwork. “You look good,” he says with a smile.

Hermann doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t say anything. Newt pivots on one heel, and motions Hermann through the room and towards the kitchen. As soon as they step inside, they’re hit by a wave of warm air. The kitchen is thick with the smell of roasting, which makes Hermann salivate almost immediately.

“This is Hermann!” Newt announces. There’s a man sitting at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes. He looks up and gives Hermann a nod, but doesn’t say anything. Another man, slightly younger, is sliding a heavy pan into the oven. He closes the oven door and smiles wide. Hermann immediately sees the resemblance. This must be Newt’s father.

“Hermann, nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Newt’s dad, Jacob. That’s my brother Illia.” He points to the man at the table, then reaches for Hermann’s hand and shakes it with a little too much enthusiasm. He glances at Newt, winks, and looks at the two of them together, as a unit.

“Dad,” Newt says, a tired warning in his voice.

“What?”

“Thank you for having me,” Hermann interrupts. “It’s very kind of you to—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I always make too much food anyway, so now we won’t be eating turkey for three weeks straight.” Jacob glances over at Illia, who has finished peeling potatoes, and is looking down at his finger with a frown. " _Alles klar?_ " he asks.

“Nicked myself.” Illia’s voice is quiet for such a large man. He sucks at the small cut on his finger, then gets up from the table and leaves the kitchen. Jacob’s eyes follow him out, then he looks back at Hermann with another smile.

“So Newt tells me you’re from England. Is this your first Thanksgiving?”

“No. Well—it’s the first Thanksgiving I’ve ever participated in.” Hermann watches as Jacob quarters potatoes, and Newt grabs a cucumber spear from a veggie platter on the table. “I’m in my fourth year at Shatterdome, so I’ve been in the States for three previous Thanksgivings.”

“Senior year, huh? That makes you a year ahead of Newt. An _older_ man.”

“Dad!” Newt throws a carrot stick at Jacob, who chuckles to himself before picking it up from the floor. “Let’s go in the other room,” Newt mutters.

“Is there anything we can help with?” Hermann asks Jacob, who’s still grinning. Newt groans “no” and tries to tug him away, but Hermann stands his ground.

“It’s fine, go ahead,” Jacob says. “I get touchy about people being in my space in the kitchen. You’re better off out there.”

Newt pulls Hermann into the living room and flops down onto the couch. Hermann sits a respectable distance away. He gives Illia a friendly smile as Illia crosses back through the room, but Illia doesn’t return it.

“Don’t take it personally,” Newt murmurs. He picks up the remote control and turns on the TV.

 

\---

 

They catch the end of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, then Newt flips through the channels until he finds a cartoon that Hermann isn’t familiar with. They watch a ten-minute episode in relative silence. Hermann wonders if their time would be better spent working on their project, but the cartoon is funny, and Newt has a charming laugh, so Hermann doesn’t say anything.

“Take off your shoes,” Newt says, nudging Hermann’s foot. “You look like you’re ready to run out the door.”

Hermann unties his shoes and leaves them by his cane in an out-of-the-way spot at the end of the couch. Newt tosses a blanket at him, and Hermann arranges it neatly over his lap. He relaxes into the couch cushions.

“Is this how you get cozy, dude? Sitting straight up with your feet on the floor?”

Hermann looks over at Newt, who has his legs curled up on the couch, and is leaning into a pile of pillows. “Is there something wrong with sitting up properly?” he asks.

Newt points to Hermann’s legs, then points to the empty space between them. Hermann doesn’t understand.

“Put your feet up!” Newt says. He leans over and tugs at the loose fabric of Hermann’s pants.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hermann mutters. He swings his legs onto the couch, bent awkwardly at the knee. Newt grins and rearranges Hermann’s blanket to cover his feet, then looks up for a reaction. Hermann fakes a dramatic frown.

“Now I have to turn my whole upper body to see the television,” he complains.

Newt gives a loud “pshh” and swats Hermann’s leg. Hermann kicks Newt in retaliation.

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” Newt asks. They play-fight back and forth, swatting and kicking, Hermann suppressing laughter. He knows that he’s flirting but for some reason it doesn’t matter until Newt grabs his ankle, pins him down, and wraps both arms around Hermann’s shins.

“Gotcha,” Newt says. His chest is pressed against Hermann’s legs. Hermann can feel him breathe. His heart starts to pound.

Footsteps come into the room, and they pull away abruptly.

“I have snacks!” Jacob says, not seeming to notice what he’s walked into. He sets a tray down on the coffee table and starts to unload it. “I thought you might be hungry, and the turkey will still be a couple more hours.”

Hermann sits up straight, blushing as Newt looks at him with a soft, curious smile.

“Do you like apple cider, Hermann?”

“Um—yes, thank you.”

Jacob sets out two glasses of cider, a bowl of pita chips, and dip.

“What’s that?” Newt asks.

“Spinach and artichoke dip. Homemade! Just something to hold you over.”

“Thank you,” Hermann says again.

Newt rolls his eyes once Jacob is back in the kitchen.

“He's showing off,” Newt says. “He always does this when there’s company.”

Hermann scoops up some dip with a chip.

“I told him that you weren’t my boyfriend,” Newt adds. “But I don’t think he believed me.”

Hermann almost drops his chip. “O—oh.”

“I’m not dating anyone right now.”

“Okay.” There’s a moment of silence. “Neither am I.”

“Cool,” Newt says. He overloads his chip, and a glob of spinach falls to the floor. “Shit.”

 

\---

 

The heated moment on the couch dissipates. They finish off the dip while watching a sci-fi movie they both enjoy, then are called into the kitchen just as it ends.

“Can you set the table?” Jacob asks Newt. “Hermann, sit down, you’re a guest.”

Hermann hovers for a moment, feeling as though he should be helping, but Jacob sends him a sharp, dad-like look, so he sits down. Newt scurries back and forth from the silverware drawer to the table. Hermann watches him reach into the cupboard for plates, set them on the counter, then reach up again for glasses. He stands on his toes to get at a gravy boat on a high shelf. Hermann gives him a glance-over.

“He gets his height from Jacob.”

Hermann is startled to find Illia sitting at the end of the table. He’s not sure how long Illia has been there, watching Hermann as Hermann was watching Newt.

“His mother is about fifteen centimeters taller.” Illia continues. “It’s Jacob who gave him the short gene.”

Jacob looks up from across the kitchen. “I feel like you’re trying to make fun of me, but considering you’re only six centimeters taller—”

“Six and a half.”

Jacob throws a dish towel at Illia, but it falls just shy of him. “ _Hilf mir mal mit dem Gemüse_ ,” he says. Illia and Newt switch places—Newt setting dishes on the table as Illia goes to the counter to spoon brussels sprouts into a bowl.

“Don’t worry,” Hermann murmurs, as Newt passes by. “You aren’t really that short.” Newt smiles and places a plate in front of him. Hermann smirks. “Well below _average_ height, but—” Newt gives a betrayed “ugh” and cuffs him across the head.

When the table is set and all the food is laid out, the Geiszlers sit down, and everyone takes a moment to eat with their eyes before they eat with their mouths. The turkey looks far too big for four. Its skin is a crisp golden color, and there’s light fluffy stuffing spilling out of the cavity. The brussels sprouts are dressed with olive oil, salt, and pepper. There are spots of honey-brown where they stuck to the roasting pan, and Hermann is looking forward to eating them, because he knows those spots are the sweetest. On one end of the table is the squash. On the other is cranberry sauce, fresh and bright. There are mashed potatoes that smell like garlic, topped with a pad of butter melting into a river.

“Holy shit,” Newt says. “This is a lot of food.”

Jacob sighs. “How many times have I asked you not to swear at the dinner table?” Newt shrugs and reaches for a bowl, but Jacob swats at his hand. “Not yet! We have to say what we’re thankful for!”

“Holy sh—seriously?”

“It’s tradition. What, did you think I would skip it just because Hermann is here?”

“I was kind of hoping—”

“ _Sei mal nicht so frech_.”

Newt groans a little, but gives in.

“Now Hermann,” Jacob says, turning to him. “When we started doing this Thanksgiving thing ten years ago, I decided that before the meal, we would go around the table and say what we’re thankful for this year. It can be as long or short as you like, alright? I’ll go first.”

Jacob pauses to think for a moment. Hermann looks over at Newt, who is staring at the turkey as if he can will it onto his plate.

“I’m thankful for my family, my friends—”

“Cliché—” Newt mutters.

“My family, my friends,” Jacob says, louder. “A job that allows me to support those I love, and…” he thinks for another moment. “And I’m thankful for reconnecting with Johann, because I’m pretty sure he can hook me up with a stossel lute from the 1920’s.”

Newt snorts.

“Illia?”

Illia looks just as reluctant as Newt, but murmurs, “I’m thankful for my brother and my nephew.”

Newt frowns. “You said that last year.”

“I did.”

“Newt, your turn.”

Newt sighs. “I’m thankful for you guys, obviously. And for uh—for school, I guess. My scholarship. Wireless internet. And for whoever did fansubs for the new Godzilla movie.” He glances up at Hermann. “Also I’m thankful that Hermann’s plans got cancelled.”

“So am I,” Hermann says, quietly. Everyone turns to him. When Newt meets his eyes, Hermann looks down at the table. “I’m thankful to be welcomed here, by your family. My own family holidays are stiff and formal….uncomfortable. I’m thankful to you for showing me something different. For showing me kindness.” He bites his lip, feeling the heavy silence of the room. “Even after I argued with Newton last week and humiliated him in front of our entire class.”

Jacob bursts out laughing. Newt shouts “you did _not_!” but Hermann ignores him. Illia reaches for the mashed potatoes, which Newt takes as a signal, and pulls the bowl of squash closer to his plate. Jacob stands to carve the turkey.

“What would you like, Hermann?” Jacob asks. “You have first choice, since you’re the guest, and since you taught my son some humility.”

Hermann asks for a leg as Newt shakes his head from across the table. Jacob carves out breast meat for Illia and himself, the wings for Newt, then he sits down and they begin passing side dishes around the table. By the time he has a little of everything, Hermann’s plate is practically overflowing. He uses his fork to nudge mashed potato away from the edge.

“So Hermann,” Jacob says, talking with his mouth full. “I’m assuming you didn’t go home for the holiday because your family’s in England?”

Hermann nods, swallowing and patting his mouth with a napkin before he replies. “Most of them, yes. My sister lives in Berlin.”

“Berlin? That’s where Newt was born! We lived there until he was four.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” Hermann looks over at Newt. “I was born in Germany, as well. We lived in Garmisch-Partenkirchen for years, until my mother passed.”

“ _Sprichst du Deutsch?_ ” Jacob asks.

“ _Ja._ ”

“Hold up—” Newt points his fork accusingly. “You didn’t tell me you were German!”

Hermann shrugs. “I didn’t think I needed to. My name is _Hermann Gottlieb_.”

Illia chuckles. Jacob is staring down at the table, thinking.

“Have I said anything in German that I didn’t intend for you to hear…?”

“You know this changes everything,” Newt says. “Now we can argue with each other in German during class and—”

“You think it will be less humiliating for you if no one knows what we’re saying?”

Newt narrows his eyes.

“So what were your plans?” Jacob asks. “Newt said your Thanksgiving plans fell through?”

Hermann tears his gaze away from Newt. “Oh—yes. I had planned to spend the holiday with my friend Vanessa; she’s also from England. But her Tuesday and Wednesday classes were cancelled, so she took the week to visit her family in London.”

“Oh, lucky her. It must be hard, being so far away from home. Do you Skype with your father?”

“No.” Hermann’s tone is so sharp that no one says anything for a moment. “My father—we don’t...” He takes a deep breath. “We don’t get along. I’m avoiding talking to him right now, because I changed my major, and I haven’t told him yet.”

“You changed your major in your fourth year?” Newt asks.

“The end of last year, actually. Physics and astrophysics share many of the same requirements, so it wasn’t too difficult. Though I may have to stay on an extra semester.”

Jacob nods. “That’s a tough decision. Why did you decide to change?”

“I never wanted to be a physics major. My father is the one who encouraged it. He thinks astronomical research is a waste of time and money.”

“But _you_ like astrophysics?” Jacob asks.

Hermann nods, enthusiastically. “I love learning about the universe. The stars, the planets, all the heavenly bodies. It’s fascinating. Space is enormous and there’s so much we don’t know about it. There’s so much left to learn.”

Jacob smiles. “It sounds like you’ve made the right choice.”

Hermann stares at him. Somehow, that’s all he needed to hear. His shoulders relax, and it feels like a heavy weight has been lifted away.

They move onto another topic. Newt starts talking about what they’re learning in class, explaining their Powerpoint presentation with more detail than his family is probably interested in. When their plates are clear—or as clear as they’re able to get them, Jacob leans back in his chair and gazes at the table with pride.

“So was it good?” he asks.

“Very good, thank you,” says Hermann.

Newt nods. “Yeah, nice job. Now Hermann and I have some stuff to work on, so—”

“Oh no no no, you’re not getting out of cleaning duty. I’ll be on the couch if you need me, and I expect dessert to be on the table by the time I can move again.”

Newt groans. “This is our worst Thanksgiving tradition,” he says to Hermann.

Jacob just pats him on the back and smiles as he exits the room. Illia follows without saying a word.

 

\---

 

Hermann offers to wash dishes, but Newt doesn’t let him. Instead, he sits at the table, finishing off his apple cider and drawing equations in the condensation of his glass. They chat idly. Hermann knows he should probably get up and get his backpack so they can work on their project, but he’s too lazy to move. He watches Newt load the dishwasher and hand-wash anything that’s too large to fit.

“Okay,” Newt says, balancing the last saucepan on the drying rack. “I’m in charge of dessert, so I’ll get started on that, and then we can finish up our project. The pie will only take me like fifteen minutes anyway, it’s super quick. Did you bring the pumpkin?”

“Yes. It’s in my backpack.”

“I’ll get it!” Newt runs from the room before Hermann can stand up. He comes back in and plops the backpack on the table. “Perfect,” he says. “I got my laptop too, we can work right here when I’m done.”

Hermann unzips his backpack and pulls out a heavy, medium-sized pumpkin. “I know it’s a little big,” he says. “But I couldn’t find any that were—”

“Dude.” Newt bursts out laughing. He picks up the pumpkin and tosses it in his hands. “I totally meant _canned_ pumpkin!”

“Oh—you didn’t—”

“I was wondering why your backpack was so heavy, holy shit!”

Hermann feels his face turning red. He mutters an “I’m sorry,” as he tries to recall the exact words of Newt’s text.

“Oh man, this is incredible,” Newt laughs. “Okay, no joke—I’ve always wanted to try making it with an actual pumpkin, so I guess _thanks_? I mean, it’s really flattering that you think so highly of my baking skills, but I guess I should have specified, huh?” He smiles down at Hermann, but Hermann staunchly refuses to look at him. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed,” Newt says. He picks up the pumpkin and carries it over to the kitchen counter. “You know, you’re really cute when you blush.”

Hermann stares hard at the table.

 

\---

 

Making a pumpkin pie from scratch isn’t as difficult as Hermann had thought. He knows he’d never be able to do it on his own—Hermann can barely microwave ramen properly—but together, he and Newt are able to manage. They quarter the pumpkin first, then scrape off the stringy guts and seeds. Hermann uses a spoon, while Newt prefers to use his hands and squeeze the goo so it seeps between his fingers. Once he’s cleaned up, they put the pumpkin in the oven and roast the seeds, snacking on them as they work on their project.

“This is gonna take longer than I thought,” Newt says. “Not the project—the pie. Do you mind staying late?”

Hermann shakes his head. “It’s not as if I have anywhere to be. I’ll stay as long as your father allows me to.”

“He wouldn’t kick you out, dude.”

Hermann shrugs. When the kitchen timer goes off, they take the pumpkin out of the oven, scrape the flesh from the peel, and blend it until it’s smooth.

“This is kinda rad,” Newt says. He mixes up the filling on his own, and slides the completed pie back into the oven.

 

\---

 

They finish their project just five minutes before the timer goes off. They let the pie cool on the kitchen table between them as they sit and admire their handiwork.

"You think it’s cooled enough yet?” Newt says, after just ten minutes. “I actually kinda like it when it’s warm.”

Hermann touches the side of the plate, which burns his fingers. “We should probably wait a little longer.”

Newt sighs dramatically. He folds his arms on the table and rests his head on top of them, causing his glasses to tilt at an angle.

“I’m really glad you came over,” he says. “You’re fun to hang out with.”

“Oh.” Hermann’s not sure how to respond. “Thank you.”

Newt looks up at him. “When we were talking earlier—about dating and stuff—who do you like—normally date?”

Hermann’s stomach starts doing little flips. “Um—I date men. Exclusively.”

“Oh. Cool. I kinda wondered about Vanessa, because I see you guys together all the time—”

“Oh, no, Vanessa has a girlfriend.”

“Sweet.” Newt smiles, but it’s more to himself than anything. “I don’t really care about gender,” he says. “I’ll date anyone who’s into me. But of course, not many people are.”

Hermann frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. I’m kind of annoying, I guess. I’m like—a lot. To handle.” Newt laughs, but Hermann doesn’t laugh with him. “I mean I’ve been in relationships before, but people always break it off once they realize what a mess I am.”

“You’re not a mess.”

“No offense, but you barely know me, dude.”

Hermann wants to argue, but it’s true. He had never spoken to Newt much before today. They had worked together in class, and occasionally argued over science, but this is the first time he’s really gotten to know Newt as a person.

“Well. I’m sure you’re no more a mess than I am. And even if you are...” Hermann shrugs. “I think it would be worth staying with you. Through the mess.”

Newt lifts his head from the table. He looks Hermann in the eyes for a long time.

“How’s that pie coming?” Jacob shouts from the other room.

Newt looks away. “It’s done!”

“Can we eat it yet?”

Hermann touches the plate, which is just the slightest bit warm. “I think it’s cool enough,” he says, as Jacob walks in.

“Great! I’ll get a knife. Did you two see the snow outside? It’s really coming down.”

“What?” There’s only one small window in the kitchen, and it’s been pitch black since the sun set. Newt looks out, shading his view with his hand. “Shit, Hermann, I don’t know if you can get home.”

“Why, how bad is it?” Hermann nudges him aside so he can see. There’s a thick layer of snow on the ground, and the tiny flakes falling from the sky show no signs of stopping. “Oh,” he says. “I guess I could get an Uber.”

“On Thanksgiving Day?”

“I’m sure there are some—”

“Just stay the night,” Jacob says. He passes a plate of pie to Illia, who came into the room when they weren’t looking. “You can have Newt’s bed, and Newt can sleep on the couch.”

Hermann shakes his head. “Oh, I couldn’t. I’ve already been here for—”

“It’s no trouble. The streets will be awful, and there’s no way I’m letting you walk back to the T in the dark on unshoveled sidewalks. ...I mean—I’m not saying you _couldn’t_ , I just—”

“I know.”

Jacob leans against the counter and looks at Newt. “Your room’s clean enough, right?” he asks. “No dissections left on the floor today?”

“That was _one time_!”

Hermann looks back outside. He doesn’t want to be a bother, but he also doesn’t want to walk out into the snow in the middle of a storm. He turns to Newt.

“You don’t mind?” he asks.

“No way, man. Stay as long as you want.”

Jacob smiles. “It’s settled, then. You’re staying.”

 

\---

 

They eat pie together at the kitchen table, then migrate out into the living room, where Jacob turns on a Christmas movie marathon. Hermann shares the couch with Newt while Jacob and Illia sit in armchairs. The smell of roast turkey and pumpkin spice lingers in the air. Hermann is reminded of childhood—when his mother was still alive. The apartment feels peaceful and homey.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Hermann pulls it out to find a text from Karla.

_did u have turkey already?_

He glances over at Newt, but Newt isn’t paying attention, so Hermann taps out a quick reply.

_Yes. Now we’re watching movies with his family._

_isn’t it getting late?_

_I’m staying the night. Got snowed in._

_wow, u putting the moves on him?_

Hermann blushes, hiding the phone as if Newt can read it from the other side of the couch. When it vibrates again, he takes another quick peek.

_you’re the one who told me he was cute_

Hermann silences the phone. Newt looks up at him with a questioning quirk of the eyebrow.

“You don’t care about The Muppet Christmas Carol?” he asks, offended. “This is my favorite Christmas movie!”

“I’m sorry, my sister was just checking in.”

“Well pay attention. You almost missed my favorite song.”

“Newt knows all the lyrics,” Jacob says. Hermann senses a hint of displeasure.

“Have you seen it before?” Newt asks.

“No, I’m not very well-versed in Christmas movies.”

“What, are you the Grinch?”

“No, just Jewish.”

“Oh shit,” Newt laughs. “Sorry.” Hermann smiles, amused. “We’re not religious, we just like Christmas. But we can watch something else if you want.”

Hermann shakes his head. “No, that’s alright. I like Kermit.”

Newt shifts closer, pulling a blanket down over both their laps. “It’s A Christmas Carol, only with Muppets,” he says.

“I gathered as much.”

“You know A Christmas Carol, right?” Newt’s arm brushes Hermann’s. Hermann’s heart begins to race.

“I’m familiar with the story,” he murmurs. Newt slips his arm beneath the blanket and nudges Hermann’s hand with one finger.

“Your hands are cold,” he says, quietly. Hermann reaches out and hooks Newt’s index finger with his own. Newt smiles. They pretend to be watching the movie, but Hermann can’t concentrate on anything but the proximity of Newt’s body. When Newt giggles at a childish joke, Hermann entwines their fingers fully. Newt squeezes his hand beneath the blanket.

 

\---

 

Jacob falls asleep in his chair, and Illia retires to his room. When the credits to the movie begin to roll, Newt stands up and tugs Hermann toward a small staircase that Hermann hadn’t noticed before.

“There’s a second floor?” he asks.

“Kind of. There’s only two rooms up there—my bedroom and my dad’s.” Hermann feels a flutter of nervousness. Newt must sense it, because he adds, “I’m not trying to like—I just thought I’d show you where you’re sleeping.”

Newt’s room is bigger than Hermann had expected, considering the size of the rest of the apartment. The walls are covered in band posters, and the bookshelves hold more Godzilla figurines than books. His bed is a mess, the sheets falling off, but he rushes to straighten them as Hermann walks in.

“I swear I just washed these,” he says, in defense.

Hermann wanders around the room as Newt shoves pill bottles into a drawer and rummages through his dresser. There’s a cork board above Newt’s desk, littered with ticket stubs. Hermann reads the festival names and movie titles, then turns his attention to a childhood picture of Newt holding a pet mouse.

Hey,” Newt says. Hermann looks up, and Newt tosses him a pair of pajama bottoms. “I stole these from my ex but they’ll probably fit you. You want a t-shirt?”

“No thank you, I can sleep in my undershirt.”

Newt’s mouth twists into a smirk, but he doesn’t say anything. He goes over to the far wall, where there’s a small window seat covered in cushions.

“I don’t think anyone expected it to accumulate this much,” he says. He gazes out at the snow, falling slower now, with fatter flakes. “Are you tired?” he asks.

Hermann shakes his head. “No.”

They sit down at an angle on the window seat. Newt pulls his legs up in front of him, and Hermann adjusts the pillows to make himself comfortable.

“Boston never predicts the weather right,” Newt snorts. “Meteorology is a shit science.”

“I thought you’d enjoy meteorology. Storm chasers and the like.”

“Yeah that part’s cool, but the rest is bullshit.”

They gaze out at the snow. There’s been no sign of a plow, so the pavement is covered in white. The streetlights cast a hazy golden glow into the dark.

“It’s so quiet,” Hermann says.

“Yeah.”

It takes a while for Hermann to realize that Newt is watching his reflection in the window. When they make eye contact, Newt looks away, but the shy smile on his face remains.

“I really like you,” Newt says. “You probably noticed.”

Hermann’s heart is thumping in his chest. He’s hyperaware of how close they are—how alone, secluded in Newt’s room.

“I did,” he says. “I like you, too.”

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Hermann swallows. He looks at Newt, who’s staring at him with unabashed longing. Hermann has never been longed for before. He nods his head, and Newt moves in closer.

Their lips barely brush. It’s a tease of a kiss, and Hermann is mad at himself when his nervousness causes him to freeze in place. He feels Newt’s mouth soft and gentle against his, but they’re both afraid of this fragile thing between them, so the kiss ends before it can properly begin. Newt pulls away.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just like—terrified. Are you sure you even like me?”

“Wha—of course. Why would I—”

“It’s just that you’re really hot and smart and funny and I’m—well, I’m smart but that’s like all I’ve got going for—”

Hermann puts his hand over Newt’s, which makes Newt break off mid-sentence. He leans in and kisses him before Newt can spiral too far. Newt whimpers in surprise. Hermann runs his thumb along Newt’s knuckles. As he pulls away, a little bit of suction tugs at Newt’s bottom lip.

“Okay,” Newt murmurs, with a sigh. “Okay, that was better.”

Hermann laughs. He looks down at their hands, resting together. “Would you like to continue?”

“Oh holy shit, yes.”

Newt’s mouth crashes against Hermann’s so hard that their teeth click. His free hand comes up to stroke Hermann’s arm, then wanders to his back, pulling him closer. Hermann wishes the window seat weren’t so narrow. His knee bumps Newt’s leg, but they both ignore it. Newt’s mouth is warm and wet. He still tastes distantly of cinnamon.

“God,” Newt groans. “Who knew Hermann Gottlieb was such an incredible kisser?”

Hermann smirks. “Plenty of people.”

“Yeah? You go around campus kissing all the guys?”

“Only the devastatingly attractive ones.”

Newt cups Hermann’s jaw and pulls him in again. He takes the lead, licking into Hermann’s mouth and sucking on his lip. Hermann’s hand curls against Newt’s chest. His mind feels hazy. He can feel Newt’s heartbeat against the base of his palm.

They break apart again, make eye contact, and laugh. This is not what Hermann was expecting when he was invited to Thanksgiving dinner. He slides an arm around Newt’s waist and rests his forehead on top of Newt’s shoulder. Newt’s body radiates heat. He’s so warm. Hermann wants to hold him closer.

“I could do this for hours,” Newt says.

Hermann’s stomach is full of butterflies. He turns so that he’s facing Newt’s neck—all that pink skin dotted with freckles. He can’t resist—he kisses it, slow and lingering.

The atmosphere between them changes. Newt’s breath hitches, and he swallows. He’s still for a moment, then he tilts his head, allowing Hermann more room. Hermann takes the invitation. He layers kisses along Newt’s throat, wet and open-mouthed. Newt’s breaths come heavy. His body is tense.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Newt, you two in there?”

They pull apart so fast that Newt almost falls sideways off the seat. “Uh—yeah!” he shouts, voice squeaking. “One sec!”

As if Hermann’s heart weren’t pounding _before_. He straightens his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles where Newt gripped it. Newt stumbles off the window seat, touching his face and neck as if he expects to find lipstick stains. Halfway to the door, he doubles back and checks his reflection in the mirror. Hermann takes a deep breath and rearranges the pillows.

“What’s up?” Newt asks, opening his bedroom door just enough to fit his body through. Hermann sees Jacob look at Newt, look at Hermann, then raise his eyebrows and smirk.

“Just wanted to make sure Hermann had enough blankets,” he says. He hands Newt a pile of blankets, neatly folded. His voice drops into a stage whisper. “Do I have to ask you to keep the door open?”

“Shut _up_ , dad!” Newt takes the blankets in his arms as Jacob chuckles. He closes the door in his father’s face. “God, I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

Newt’s face is bright red. Hermann can’t imagine he looks any better.

 

\---

 

The interruption has killed the mood, so once Newt drops the blankets at the foot of the bed, they say their slightly awkward goodnights. Newt gives Hermann a kiss on the cheek, then disappears out the door, his socked feet padding down the staircase.

Hermann closes the curtain and changes into Newt’s ex’s pajama bottoms. He rests his cane against the bedside table, climbs under the covers, and turns out the light. One of Newt’s Godzilla figurines has glow-in-the-dark eyes. Hermann turns onto his side.

It’s strange sleeping in an unfamiliar house, let alone an unfamiliar bed. Strange—but not uncomfortable. The sheets smell clean—like Newt had insisted they were—but there’s still a lingering Newt-smell that Hermann finds slightly distracting. He takes deep breaths to chase it, but stops when he begins feeling lightheaded.

Newt and Jacob are walking around downstairs. Hermann can hear their muffled voices, but can’t tell what they’re saying. There’s a moment of silence, then footsteps—heavier than Newt’s—come upstairs and go into the room next door. The door closes, and the apartment is quiet.

Hermann turns onto his back. He picks up his phone to find that Karla had sent three more texts after he silenced it. They end with _i’m going to bed, goodnight and GOOD LUCK_. he texts back _I kissed him_ and waits for a response. There is none. It’s early morning in Berlin, and Karla likes to sleep in. Hermann puts his phone back on the nightstand and closes his eyes.

 

\---

 

Everyone else is already awake when Hermann gets up. It’s cold in Newt’s room, so he grabs a hoodie draped over the bedpost and puts it on before wandering downstairs. Newt and Illia are chatting over coffee.

“Hey, morning!” Newt says. He smiles wide, then his eyes flick down to to the hoodie.

“I was cold,” Hermann explains. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah, that’s—that’s cool.” Newt seems slightly distracted. “You look uh—really good in that.”

Illia stands up and gives Hermann a silent nod before leaving the room. Hermann feels guilty for running him out.

“You want some coffee?” Newt asks. “Something to eat? I think we have those cinnamon rolls in the tube that pops open. They only take like fifteen minutes to bake.”

“Just coffee is fine,” Hermann says. He sits down at the table as Newt pours him a mug. It’s steaming hot, and he sighs after taking a sip.

“I was gonna ask if you want cream or sugar, but you’re good, huh?”

Hermann snorts. “I take mine black.”

Sunlight shines into the room, reflecting off the snow outside and making everything look bright and clear. Hermann is still waking up, so he focuses mostly on his coffee as Newt describes a dream he had involving giant aliens and a fissure at the bottom of the ocean.

“Anyway,” Newt says, once he’s done. “Did you sleep well? My bed’s cozy, huh?”

“It was very nice. I slept just fine.”

“Yeah, well. You’re uh—welcome to it anytime.”

Hermann smiles into his mug.

“My dad had to work, but he texted me a little while ago and said the sidewalks are pretty clear. There aren’t any delays on the Red Line, so you should be fine if you’re just going straight home.”

“Good, thank you for letting me stay.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Hermann can feel Newt gazing at him, but he doesn’t look up. He swirls the last sip of coffee in circles around the bottom of his mug.

“Can I get a good morning kiss?” Newt asks.

Hermann laughs. He motions Newt closer with a crook of his finger.

 

\---

 

The most awkward part about staying the night unexpectedly is that Hermann doesn’t have any clothes to change into the next morning. Newt’s clothes don’t fit him, so he’s forced to wear the same outfit as yesterday, turning his journey home into a virginal walk of shame.

“You wanna take a shower?” Newt asks, plucking a fresh pair of skinny jeans from his dresser.

“Please. That would make me feel slightly less filthy.”

Newt snorts and leads them to the apartment’s sole bathroom. Karla texts just as they get there, so Hermann motions for Newt to go first, and sits down on the bench just outside as he waits.

 _move in with him_ , Karla says. _become a u.s. citizen and escape papa’s bullshit forever_.

Hermann had been expecting a fun, playful reply to his text about the kiss. Now, he starts to worry.

_What’s wrong?_

_he called me at work today. woke up to a text from one of my baristas asking if i knew someone named lars and if they should give him my cell number_

_What did you say?_

_fuck no, of course!! should have changed my surname when i moved._

Hermann sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Karla left home once she turned 18. She found a job as a barista at a busy cafe in Berlin, then worked her way up to manager. She thought she was finally settled—secure now, and stable.

_Do you know what he wants?_

_no idea. he’ll probably say he wants to “reconnect” and then it’ll be back to the manipulative crap i dealt with for years_

_Maybe he’ll give up if you don’t reply._

_i’m gonna google how to block calls on a landline_

Karla stops texting, and Hermann puts down his phone. He rubs his temples and sighs, then startles when he sees Illia standing in the doorway.

“Oh—hello,” he says.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, I just—I was texting with my sister.”

Illia nods. He glances up at the bathroom door, still closed. They can hear the sound of the shower running, and Newt humming to himself.

“You looked worried,” Illia says.

Hermann’s shoulders sag. “Our father has been giving her trouble.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. After watching Newt’s family act so loving towards each other, it’s embarrassing to admit the faults of Hermann’s own. Illia sits down next to him on the bench. Hermann glances over, but Illia doesn’t look back.

“I don’t talk to my parents,” Illia says. “They weren’t supportive of me, growing up, so I moved out as soon as I came of age. Newt has never met them.”

This is not what Hermann expected. He had envisioned weekly phone calls back home. Emails, pictures, summer vacations to a quaint little house in the German countryside. It never occurred to him that Newt may not know his grandparents.

“They don’t believe in mental illness. Never got me help. When I moved out, I cut ties, tried to live on my own, but I couldn’t do it. Jacob dropped out of college to be with me.”

“Does Jacob speak to them?” Hermann asks.

“Once a year. He’s more of an optimist than I am, thinks they can change. He won’t let them talk to Newt though. Doesn’t want them saying to Newt what they used to say to me.”

The shower turns off, and they hear the curtain being shoved aside.

“Anyway.” Illia gets up. “Hold onto your sister,” he says. He pats Hermann gently on the shoulder. “It’s good that you have each other.”

 

\---

 

Newt goes up to his room while Hermann is in the bathroom, so Hermann takes a few extra moments to sit in the steam while the shower runs and text Karla to see how she’s doing.

 _i’m fine_ , she says. _more angry than anything. i blocked his number, so it shouldn’t happen again. thanks for looking out for me, little brother._

Once he’s clean and dressed, Hermann finds Newt in the kitchen, and they have Thanksgiving leftovers for lunch. Hermann knows he ought to go home at some point, but he doesn’t want to just yet. Newt seems reluctant to see him leave. He invites Hermann upstairs to watch a movie, and they sit in his bedroom, arguing over in-universe movie science.

“You know,” Hermann says. “I’m not sure why we’re debating over this when there are plenty of better things we could be doing.”

Newt asks “like what?” in a voice that tries very hard to be casual. They spend the next half-hour making out on Newt's bed.

 

\---

 

Hermann packs up his bag in the late afternoon, knowing that it will get dark just as he’s arriving back on campus. Jacob has come home by now, and gives him a Tupperware full of leftovers, and three slices of pumpkin pie.

“You know you can come back anytime,” he says. “Honestly. You’re always welcome here.”

Hermann thanks everyone profusely. Newt walks him outside and downstairs to the front door, where they stand for a moment, shyly avoiding looking at each other.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Hermann says. “Truly. I’m glad we were able to spend time together.”

Newt nods, solemnly. “Yeah, I’m glad we got to make out and stuff.” Hermann shoves him, and Newt laughs. “What? I am!”

Hermann takes Newt’s hand in his own and squeezes it. “I’ll see you in class next week?”

“Yeah! Or like—if you want, we could hang out this weekend? Maybe after your robot thing tomorrow. Or we could catch a movie Sunday?”

“Have you ever seen a battling robot competition?”

“Uh, no. Nerd.”

“Come watch tomorrow. Mako’s going to a party right afterwards, so I’ll be free, and you and I can get something to eat.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Hermann smiles. He gives Newt a goodbye kiss and turns to the door.

“Hold up, hold up! I forgot something!” Newt pulls a wishbone from the pocket of his hoodie. “I cleaned this off last night and left it on the windowsill. You wanna make a wish?”

“You had that thing in your pocket?”

“I cleaned it off, it’s dry!” Newt holds one end of the bone in his pinkie. Somewhat reluctantly, Hermann takes the other. “Okay, make a wish, and tell me when you’re ready.”

Hermann looks at Newt. He’s smiling—that lopsided grin that made Hermann weak the first time he saw it. His eyes are blue-green and bright, crinkling at the edges. He’s gazing at Hermann as if nothing else matters, like this is the most important thing happening in his life at this moment.

“Alright,” Hermann murmurs. “I’m ready.”

They pull the wishbone.

 

\---


End file.
